


Taken

by IndigoEyes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abduction, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Kidnapping, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-09 12:02:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12887463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoEyes/pseuds/IndigoEyes
Summary: They are all true, the songs that have been sung.The bards sing them right.They talk about a wolf-maiden stolen by a dragon in the middle of the night.





	1. Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a short project I've been planning for some time now :)
> 
> One of the many at least, but the only one that doesn't require too much time!
> 
> Enjoy :D

_I want to see you._ _Fifteen days from now._

_Meet me in the Godswood._

_Midnight._

_I'll be waiting._

_R._

* * *

The shroud of mist in the Godswood was too thick for her own liking. But thick meant cover, and all she needed right now was decent camouflage from stray eyes. 

_He said he wanted to see her._

Ravens ominous as death, were perched on tree boughs, peering down at her with curious black eyes.

Lyanna clutched her fured-lined cloak tighter around her shoulders, stalking through the towering trees with hasty, quiet feet, her lungs painting warm clouds of breath against the chilly night.

To her dejection, when she finally reached the clearing, she found no one. Just the eyes of her Gods that were carved up on the heart tree, observing her closely. Judging her. Reminding her her family name and the House she represented before them.

Lyanna wanted to die from shame. 

She wasn't supposed to be here tonight, waiting for the prince of the Seven Kingdoms to show up. She was supposed to have ended this liaison the day she left Harrenhal and all the novel feelings she experienced there behind her.

She was supposed to be safely tucked under the furs of her bed, dreaming of the furious winds that racked Storms End and her imminent marriage to the stag that ruled it.

But Lyanna couldn't care less about Robert Baratheon. And all his pretentious sentiments towards her person, for that matter.

She was sure that once the Baratheon Lord bedded her, his enthusiasm would run as low as the ale he kept undercroft.

And she ... She didn't want to become Robert's latest bed lapdog, bound to him for the rest of her days.

She wanted someone exclusively to herself. Someone that she could call her own, and not some drunken buzzard that reached for every moving creature with a pair of legs to spread and a cunt to worm his manhood into.

Without fair notice, the ground began bouncing with the sound of approaching horses. Lyanna mustered her scattered wits about her and whirled, her eyes searching for the intruder. 

As soon as she spotted the face she wished to spot—ever so regal atop his horse—she let an unprecedented current of warmth engulf her awhole.

The longing she had tried to tamp down so many times over the last year threatened to start bubbling out of her chest anytime soon.

She recognized the sculpted angles of his face, the silver hair, pale as Winterfell snow, streaming about him and gleaming like stardust—gleaming like the white cloaks of the three Kingsguard who rode sidewise him.

Her nervousness intensified, but so did her curiosity.

_He wanted to see her._

_After a whole year._

Her chest tugged heavier once the prince halted his stallion a few feet away from her and dismounted in one graceful move.

In a span of a heartbeat, his charged stare was upon her, strucking her like lighting. His valyrian purple eyes were veneered with something dangerous that made her pulse go mad. It thrilled through her like her nerves were channeling starlight. 

And when he approached her, it was with a closed expression she couldn't explain away, slowly, determinedly.

Her certainty vanished. She did not reach for him. All the starlight shrank back up her nerve endings, leaving her confused, and she stared at him—the heavy slowness, the flatness of his look—and wondered yet again why he wanted to see her.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Ηello—"

Lyanna had no time to react. In a blink of an eye, Rhaegar's left hand was cupping her face and the other one wrapped around her waist, pulling her to him. 

Rhaegar exhaled softly in her mouth and their lips met in perfect harmony. Lyanna's heart almost stopped her labours. 

She immediately opened her mouth like a flower against the sun, only to realise that the passion she wanted to invest in that kiss found no reciprocation. She could as well have been kissing a wall. 

The prince's lips were barely brushing hers, their movements stiff and almost ... almost rehearsed.

He wouldn't allow her access into his mouth. Nothing like those passionate kisses he was showering her with at Harrenhal, that left her paralysed with need, and butterflies hurricaning within her stomach.

Lyanna broke her mouth away, sporting a tiny frown due to the bitter taste that coated her tongue. She licked her lips but the sour taste remained. 

What had Rhaegar drunk that could possibly taste so weird?

"I ..." Lyanna trailed, puzzlement clouding her voice. "What brings you here?" 

She glanced fleetingly over Rhaegar's shoulder to see Arthur Dayne returning her look, his strong jaw clenched.

Lyanna tried to mute all the hard stares. She was after all kissing a married man.

"I wanted to see you," Rhaegar whispered softly, his pupils dilating impossibly in the dark.

“And why is that all of a sudden?” she asked in a small voice, hesitant and with an uplift of hope that she might be misreading him, that he might still mirror back at her the starburst that the sight of him had ignited in her. 

His eyes turned complacent, mirth flickering between shades of indigo. "Must there be any particular reason?" 

Rhaegar's lips kept moving mechanically, Lyanna noticed. Yet this time, they seemed somehow glossy ... their hue pinker than usual. She had spent way too much time kissing those lips not to notice the difference, anyway. 

"You shouldn't be absent from home, your Highness," Lyanna countered hotly and turned to leave. "You have a son now, and a wife that needs you." 

Her pulse accelerated abruptly. All too suddenly she felt overwhelmingly tired. As though she had run a mile. Her throat was parched up like a desert.

The prince grabbed gently her elbow and spinned her around, ignoring her jab. Lyanna's head felt light-headed, her eyes towing her down. "I didn't cross half the continent to see you for so little."

Lyanna despite her unexplained fatigue raised a defiant brow. "That poor excuse of a kiss certainly suggested so."

"It's not that simple, love," the prince remarked watching her now even closer, expectation burning alive in his eyes. 

All of a sudden, Lyanna realised she couldn't concentrate on the details of his face. She tried her damniest to blink the sleepiness away but as each second passed, it became harder to keep her eyes open. Her vision rainbowed and dotted.

_What was happening to her?_

"I ..." she croaked, and attempted to clench her fist to no avail. Her whole body felt paralysed. Everybody seemed to be watching her. Waiting. "I'd better go—"

It was a matter of time before her legs buckled too and the ground began welling up beneath her. 

Two strong hands caught her by the armpits and lifted her effortlessly into a pair of arms. 

The only thing Lyanna could feel was Rhaegar's affectionate touch as he stroked her hair, before sleep claimed her for good.

* * *

"We'd better make haste," Arthur said as he handed Rhaegar his personal handkerchief. "It won't be long before Rickard realises his daughter has gone missing," 

Rhaegar wiped the essence of nightshade off his lips. "How long before she wakes up?"

Essence of nightshade was Rhaegar's favourite answer to his sleepless nights. Hopefully three drops would be enough to keep Lyanna asleep during their journey.

"It depends on the constitution," Ser Gelord Hightower said. 

"Then we are done here," Rhaegar said and mounted his stallion, Lyanna sleeping dreamlessly against him. "We are going to split up."  

He wouldn't risk being indentified and then dragged back to King's Landing by Aerys's orders. He had waited a whole year to see her again. He wouldn't let anyone snatch her away from him so easily. Not even his own king. 

"Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold will follow the Kingsroad," the prince announced. "Arthur and I will head to Riverrun. We'll then meet up in Dorne."

The night was his dearest ally. He could make it to Riverrun by dawn. And then he would make Lyanna understand.

He pulled up his hood, and urged his stallion into a gallop, his she-wolf's head resting upon his shoulder. He gathered her closer to him, securing her against him, and planted a soft kiss to her temple. 

Even in her sleep, she was lovely, by far the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

The ice to his fire. 


	2. Forshaken

Lyanna woke up in a daze. 

Her vision was blurry, her mouth dry, her head heavy as a tree trunk, and her memory blanketed in a huge, huge gap. She had little concept of where she was.

The first thing she noticed once she pried her eyes open was the cold that leaked from the grey stone walls that surrounded her and from the cold sheets of the bed she was lying onto.

She expected to find her naked body under the comforter. Instead she found her clothes. The clothes she wore the night before. Lyanna clutched frantically at her blanket. How long had she been asleep?

The thought filled her with dread. And underneath that, something else entirely more horrible; unwelcome curiosity.

Fending off her conflicting emotions, she set about inspecting her body. She was sore all over, even her hair hurt, but between her legs she didn’t feel noticeably different. No soreness on the inside to suggest what she couldn’t bring herself to think might happen to her at some point. She was momentarily relieved, but one more look around her surroundings and her relief evaporated. 

The crown prince was seated by the corner of the room, watching her closely. Amusedly, if she could say so. 

Lyanna's temper began boiling hot.

Rhaegar's gaze was a tangible thing on her skin, making her stomach twist with discomfort at the same time.

She pushed past the lump in her thoat. "Why are you here? What did you do to me?" 

Rhaegar's voice was eerily calm and relaxed. "Just a little something to make you fall asleep." 

Fluid glimpses of what had transpired swarmed Lyanna all at once. 

Stiff lips. Guarded mouth. Awful kiss. Bitter taste. Blankness. 

Everything made sense now.

"Is that why you wouldn't open your mouth when we kissed?" 

Rhaegar barely nodded. 

His infuriating apathy spurred Lyanna into snapping. "You kidnapped me."

The prince leaned back casually and sighed. "You wouldn't have listened. And I wouldn't take the slightest of chances for your  screams to reach the Wall." 

"It's never too late for that," Lyanna quipped angrily and slid out of bed, going straight for the only door this gloomy room had. "I'm leaving."

Lyanna had no time to react before her only way out was blocked by Rhaegar's formidable height and she collided with his broad chest. 

"No you are not," Rhaegar supplied solemnly. "Not until you hear me out first."

Only when she peered up into his indigo eyes did she finally realize how serious the situation really was.

Lyanna briefly considered screaming and then fleeing; the urge was nearly overwhelming to run. Just kick his royal balls thusly rendering him unable to produce any more royal babies, and run, until her legs could not carry her anymore. But ... her legs still felt feeble, Rhaegar would still outmatch her physically, and even if she made it past this door, there were three more Kingsguard to prevent her, the Sword of the Morning among them.

"Hear what?" she sputtered out, distancing herself from her captor as much as possible. "What bloody excuse in the Seven Hells could you possibly come up with to justify the fact that you stole me in the middle of the night?"

His expression softened subtly, but his gaze held hers with a disturbing intensity, nonetheless. "Word reached me that your Lord Father and Robert secured the betrothal. On top of that,  _and_ a wedding day." 

"So what?" The she wolf sported a cheeky brow. "I don't see how this is any of your concern, your Royal Highness." 

Rhaegar's eyes became two slits and Lyanna's blood froze dead in her veins. "When you are involved, it is  _my_ concern."

"Bold words from someone who hasn't been bothered about my imminent betrothal to the Stormlord for a whole year now."

The Crown Prince cracked his neck, almost as if in warning. "You didn't seem to have the same outlook about this betrothal back at Harrenhal."

"Like I said, it's been a year since then." 

The prince frowned infinitesimally. "And what has changed?" 

Lyanna couldn't answer clearly. She was, after all, a girl-woman, a Lady of six and ten in age, but not fully at heart. She was still a handful, an impulsive child of the North, with ice running in her Stark blood and iron thawing underneath. 

Finally after a pause she said, "Harrenhal was a mistake. I was blinded by despair. There was Robert and there was you; my only escape from reality, my only illusion of a choice. But now, I've accepted my situation. And all the prospects of spending my life as the Lady of Storms End. Our little adventure is over."

The prince's face morphed into something that Lyanna could only assume was frustration. And unadulterated, raw jealousy. 

She could tell it was the same dangerous expression he had every time he watched her from the dais dancing with Robert during the tourney. 

"You asked me why I'm here; I'm here to give you a choice."

Lyanna laughed then, a mocking, curt sound. The dragon prince on the other hand didn't seem to be partaking in her amusement . "And what that choice would be?"

Shrugging, his confidence undefeated by her laugh, he took a step closer. "Me." 

Her knees almost buckled but she sustained her aloofness at a believable level. "Tempting as it might sound to entangle myself with a married man, I'm afraid I'll have to decline." 

"My marriage is a thing quite temporary and  easily fixed." 

Lyanna almost shrieked. "Temporary?"  _Gods,_ she couldn't believe her ears. "You are hers by vows! You pledged yourself to your wife before the Gods, and when you give an oath before the Gods, that means forever." 

Unless their Gods were as real as the Others who roamed our lands a thousand years ago. Those Southorns had no morals, her father used to say, even their Gods were wrong.

"Lyanna-" 

"I would never become the third person between a couple, the third wheel in your relationship," Lyanna continued. "regardless of the circumstances. I would never do that to another woman."

She would never shame another woman, the way Robert intended to shame her after their wedding. 

"Besides, you have a son, and an heir at that." 

There was enough of ... s _omething_ coiling hot in Rhaegar's sharp angles this very moment that made Lyanna wonder if he'd inherited the Targaryen madness after all.

The prince loosed a sharp breath. "A son that isn't mine. Neither is Rhaenys." 

It took awhile for Lyanna to register his words. Like a pebble sinking on the bottom of the ocean. "What ... What do you mean?" 

"Elia had a paramour. From the very beginning." 

Lyanna's brain worked feverly to comprehend what just Rhaegar revealed. "You named that child after your bloodline. You made him your heir. The whole realm knows it."

"What was I supposed to do?" He steepled his long fingers under his chin.

_What was he supposed to do?_

_Aegon Targaryen, a bastard?_

"What do you think will happen if Aerys finds out about him? About Rhaenys?" It seemed to her that Rhaegar was taking advantage of her puzzlement for he was slowly closing the gap between them. "Well, I'll tell you: He'll have them and Elia burned in the middle of the dragonpit. And I won't have an infant's blood on my hands." 

The she wolf's voice broke. "You knew?"

Rhaegar pinned his empty gaze to the floor. "We tried, Lyanna. We did try to ... to spark things up between us. But it didn't work out. So I'm not sullying any sacred vows here. Not at least vows Elia didn't break first."

Lyanna turned her back and looked at him over her shouder. "I don't see why this has anything to do with me."

"All Elia and I have been searching was a motive to break the marriage. I want you to come with me to Kings Landing. Once you do, she is leaving for Dorne." 

Lyanna almost choked on her breath. "Come with you to the South as _what_? As your mistress? I think not." 

"Come with me to Kings Landing as my wife." 

The wolf maiden's lungs seemed to cease their labours. "Pray repeat that because I am not quite following, your Grace." 

"Marry me, Lyanna Stark."

Lyanna whirled like a winter tempest and faced him, befuddled as she was. The sentence was ringing in her ears, and so was her shaking heart.

Rhaegar was looking at her with expectant limpid eyes, with the same longing she recognised burning in him when he crowned her his Queen of Love and Beauty.

After a long pause, she broke the silence. "No." 

Rhaegar's soft demeanor seemed to crumble. "What?" 

"The answer is no." 

The prince's jaw worked furiously, whether in irritation or anxiety, Lyanna did not know. And she did not care.

It must have been unprecedented to him, the word 'no' coming from a woman, that is.

"And why, Lyanna, are you refusing me?" 

"I have known you for ... how long? Three days." 

She wanted this man. She didn't simply desire him. She had feelings for him. But she wouldn't succumb to his charms just because she felt like it. She wouldn't let her emotions overwhelm her. 

"You have known Robert Baratheon less than that," Rhaegar hissed.

Lyanna was innerly fuming at the mention of Robert's name but in the exterior she stayed calm. She wouldn't give Rhaegar any inklings that she had doubts and second thoughts. 

"He was fostered with my brother back in Eyrie. If Ned trusts him, I do too. Besides, your father would never give you his consent." 

"I don't need anyone's consent," he whispered, looking deeply into her eyes, trying to convey how serious he was. "Only yours."

"You barely know me," Lyanna protested mildly.

"I know that I can't get you out of my mind from the moment I laid eyes on you."

"You ..." Lyanna shook her head in pain and turned her back to him once more. "You can't give me what I want." 

"Name it, and I will." 

The first thing Lyanna felt was Rhaegar's warmth seeping into the small of her back. The second one was his firm arms wrapping themselves around her waist and gluing her against him.

She let out a muffled gasp of surprise and bit her lips so hard she thought they would bleed. Her heart soared so high she thought it would land too violently.

Her feelings were in desperate turmoil. How had she got herself so sentimentally attached in such a situation?

She shrank in his arms like a raisin. "Rhae-"

"Choose me, Lyanna Stark," he murmured softly in her ear, and oh sweet Gods, his scent and touch made her weak on the knees. "and I will bring the world to your feet." 

"This is so selfish," Lyanna offered and felt guilt welling up from within. Because right now, she didn't give a damn about her father and his opinion. About her brothers. About her House. About what the world would say. 

She only cared about what she felt. 

The prince's arms tightened around her middle holding her from melting to a pool of suns and stars. "Isn't being in love all about selfishness and ego?" 

Lyanna had always been selfish, and never proclaimed otherwise. She didn't find anything wrong with making herself and well-being a priority so long as she didn't hurt others. She was okay with being selfish, but not a hypocrite. 

She wanted to be free. She wanted to be with someone who would last, someone who would not confine her and would awake an ocean of butterflies in her stomach every time he whispered her name. She wanted to be with someone she was afraid to lose.

"Rhaegar," she said, and was shamed to hear the huskiness in her voice – but her words stopped as she felt him bending his face to the swell of her neck, where her pulse fluttered beneath the skin. His long silver hair fell upon her shoulder – soft and inky as the shadows around them. Then he angled his head, his mouth inches from her throat, his breath caressing her collarbone.

"Yes?" he said, so close that she felt the small hiss of air from his mouth.

"Ι choose you."

Lyanna shut her eyes tightly, turning her head from his nearness, her heart drumming within her until she thought she would faint.

Rhaegar did not move, merely stood stone-still, craned to the warmth of her throat.

"Look at me," he commanded.

Lyanna looked up into his face.

And she beheld the rarest of things on earth, far less common than the gold and diamonds and the long lost dragons of Valyria. Lyanna saw Rhaegar Targaryen smile.

Yet it was not a true smile; for his melancholic eyes held sadness as he wound his arms around her, and looked into her face.

"Mine," he said, and kissed her.

The light of the world faded as their lips met, and Lyanna was home.

 


End file.
